


How It Ends

by ardj18



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Child Abuse, Drug Use, Five Pogo and Grace are mentioned but aren't really in the story much, Fluff and Angst, Gen, How Many Headcanons Can I Fit In One Story, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Pre-Canon, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sibling Bonding, Some Fluff, the mausoleum, the story of how they all leave the academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardj18/pseuds/ardj18
Summary: "As Vanya would, years later, explain in a book no critic could ever hate as much as her siblings do, Ben’s death is what breaks the Umbrella Academy for good. The cracks had always been there, of course, but his death is the final straw."Klaus watches the Umbrella Academy crumble, one bitter child at a time.





	How It Ends

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't felt so inspired to write fanfiction--and actually finish a story--in years. I just love this show so freaking much.

As Vanya would, years later, explain in a book no critic could ever hate as much as her siblings do, Ben’s death is what breaks the Umbrella Academy for good. The cracks had always been there, of course, but his death is the final straw.

Vanya leaves first. (Good for her, Klaus thinks, when he’s sober enough to have to think at all.) It’s only two weeks after the funeral, so she’s clearly been planning it for a while. Maybe it was just the push she needed to really go.

There’s no great fanfare, no goodbye party, not even a big fight with Dad. She just announces it one day at breakfast. She got accepted to a local college on a music scholarship and she’s leaving tomorrow morning.

Dad reprimands her for interrupting Herr Carlson.

True to her word as ever, the next morning Vanya loads a suitcase with all her worldly possessions--Klaus notices it’s a really tiny suitcase and he can’t even think of enough stuff she owns to fill it since her violin is in its own case over her shoulder--into the back of a taxi. She hugs Mom and Pogo tightly, and Allison briefly, unsurely. Luther and Dad didn’t bother to see her off, and Diego is glowering at the scene from the staircase, making no move to join in. She hesitates in front of Klaus. He’s not really offended--he knows he’s a mess. He’s been doing his best to be spectacularly high at all times since Ben died and he can only imagine how awful he looks right now that she wouldn’t even want to touch him. Or whatever.

She does end up hugging him, and he hugs back, and he knows in his heart she wishes it could be Five or Ben here instead for her to hug. He doesn’t blame her for that either.

“Goodbye,” Vanya says, and she hesitates for another moment. Her eyes dart around as if she’s waiting for Dad to appear. He doesn’t.

As she walks down the stairs and into the taxi, Klaus can see her head twitching to the side over and over as if she wants to look back but is forcing herself not to. And then she’s in the cab and it’s driving away. Klaus thinks this might be the last time he ever sees her, and wonders if he should feel worse about that. He wants to. Well, he thinks he wants to, but it’s hard to tell, really. The cocktail of drugs and alcohol his mind is swimming in makes it hard to feel anything but numb. And kind of giggly.

Nothing really changes after Vanya leaves. Klaus hadn’t expected it to. There’s one less plate laid out at dinner that night, and violin music no longer floats through the halls, but that’s it. Maybe that’s why Vanya announced her departure, Klaus thinks--leaning against the wall between their rooms like he used to when he listened to Vanya practicing violin--because if she didn’t, who knows how long it would have taken them to notice she was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Diego leaves next, and he doesn’t even bother announcing it. He says goodbye to Mom--out of sight of his siblings so they can’t tease him for crying--and then slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and walks out the front door. He walks right into Klaus, actually, who is coming back after a three day drug binge he doesn’t remember much of.

They both just stand there for a minute, silent. Klaus can’t say he’s surprised at all. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before Diego escaped, but he’d selfishly hoped it would be a little longer. It’s not like their upbringing really encouraged healthy sibling relationships, but Diego has always been a little more willing to put up with Klaus than most of the others.

They’ve had an unspoken agreement since childhood that Diego would never turn Klaus away when he needed comfort if he had nightmares or the ghosts were too loud, (or if he’d been in the mausoleum for so long he felt like a ghost himself, not that he’d ever told any of his siblings just what his personal training entailed), and Klaus in turn would never breathe a word to anyone that Diego is secretly a cuddler or he would find a knife sticking out of one of his organs. Probably non-vital, but he’s never been willing to take that risk. Or the risk that Diego would kick him out the next time he stumbled back from the mausoleum choking on his own tears.

And maybe in the last few years Klaus has turned to drugs more than his brother, but he’d at least known Diego was always there to fall back on if he needed.

So while Diego leaving has always been inevitable, Klaus feels his heart sinking anyway.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” Diego finally asks, as if Klaus wasn’t literally just stumbling into the house from not even he knows where, reeking of alcohol at ten in the morning and with some unknown but probably highly illegal drug still working its way through his bloodstream.

“Yeah,” Klaus accepts. “That’d be great.”

They drive for a while with nothing but Klaus’s incomprehensible ramblings until Diego gives up all pretense of expecting Klaus to give him a destination and pulls into the Waffle House parking lot.

“Are you leaving the city?” Klaus asks after he’s polished off his third waffle. He wouldn’t be surprised. He’s actually surprised Vanya didn’t leave the city altogether, didn’t run as far and fast as she could.

“No. I’m going to the Police Academy.”

“A cop? Well, you’ll probably be seeing plenty of me then, you lucky bastard.” He’s had a few run-ins with police already, when parties he’d been at had been busted, or for public (and underage) intoxication. And, of course, during the whole superhero gig, but they tended to be rather nicer when he was saving the day as opposed to, well, getting super high in back alleys or motel rooms.

“I’d better not,” Diego mutters.

“My presence is a gift,” Klaus sniffs. “In all situations.”

A beat of silence.

“You don’t have to go back, you know. You can leave too.”

Diego is so earnest that Klaus has to look away. He _could_ leave. He knows that. But, well, he doesn’t have anywhere to go. Not like Diego and Vanya. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about leaving. He leaves all the time, staying away for days or even weeks, crashing with random people or in alleys. But he always comes back, just because he has nowhere else. Nowhere permanent, at least. The Academy may be a nightmare, but at least it always has food and a place for him to sleep.

He shrugs and doesn’t meet Diego’s eyes.

They don’t say anything more on the subject, just finish up their food. Diego drops Klaus back off at the house with a wave and Klaus watches him drive away, feeling terribly alone.

There’s one less plate at dinner.

 

* * *

 

 

Their eighteenth birthday is quiet. Dad ignores it the way he’s ignored the past seventeen, but he does let them have dinner by themselves in the kitchen, rather than in the dining room. Mom makes them a cake and the three of them sit around the table, far too aware of the empty chairs. Allison and Luther are talking quietly to each other and Klaus has never felt so much like a third wheel.

He leaves the table as soon as he finishes his cake, heading straight to the bathroom and filling the tub. He’s feeling entirely too sober to deal with anything. It’s been two months now since Ben died but every time he closes his eyes he still sees Ben’s mangled, bloody body. He hates it. He would never admit it to anyone--not that he admits much of anything about his powers to his siblings--but he’s terrified that if he sobers up too much he’ll have to see that body again for real. It’s selfish and he knows that. He should want to conjure his brother’s ghost, to talk to him again. But he can’t see that again. He just can’t. It’s bad enough seeing hordes of strangers wearing their bloody deaths; he couldn’t deal with seeing Ben like that.

So he settles in the tub and downs two of the pills he’d treated himself to this morning as a birthday present.

Maybe, he thinks, he should take a few more. Just to be sure it would keep the ghosts away. There was always the chance it would be too many, but it wouldn’t be the first time he overdosed. Not even the first time he overdosed in this very tub. It’s why he’s no longer allowed to take baths with the door closed.

(Diego had found him. They’d been sixteen and Klaus had overdosed for the first time and no one had known what to do. They didn’t understand; they all just thought he was weak. In the end Luther had just declared that Klaus had to keep the bathroom door open from now on and thought that would fix the problem. Klaus hadn’t really cared. It’s not like any of them have ever had privacy at all, so it’s nothing new.)

In the end, he settles for one more. Just to really take the edge off.

“Happy birthday to us, happy birthday to us,” he sings and listens to it echo back.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Klaus sees Ben’s ghost, he thinks he’s hallucinating. He’s certainly high enough for it, as the little pink fairies flitting around his room would attest. So he ignores it and goes to bed.

But then he wakes up, significantly more sober, and Ben is still there, staring at him. But it can’t really be Ben, because he just . . . looks like Ben. No sign at all of his violent, gory death. Just Ben sitting there in his desk chair, free of blood and wearing a fucking _hoodie_ for god’s sake. That’s not how ghosts work. But he’s also not high enough to be hallucinating.

Well, at least that’s one thing he can change. He goes scrambling off his bed and to his nearest stash of drugs.

“Klaus,” Not-Ben says quietly, and he sounds disappointed. Well too fucking bad. “Klaus, don’t. Please.”

“You’re not real.”

“Of course I am.” Klaus ignores him, concentrating instead on the beginnings of his high. Not-Ben doesn’t even flicker, just sighs. “I’m not a hallucination.”

“You know, that’s exactly what a hallucination would say,” Klaus says, giggling hysterically--desperately--at the absurdity of it all. “Believe me, I’d know.” Not that a hallucination had ever actually said that to him before, but Not-Ben didn’t need to know that.

“Klaus, please, don’t,” Ben begs, reaching out to Klaus and watching his hand pass right through him. And god, he sounds _scared_ , and so fucking much like Ben that Klaus feels his hands shaking. “Don’t make me go. Don’t leave me alone like that.”

It’s the same way he begged not to have to unleash the Horror on that last mission, the one where it tore him apart and inside out. Klaus feels tears running down his cheeks. “You’re not real,” he whispers, not sure he believes it but wanting to so bad. “You can’t be real.”

The drugs are kicking in now, but Ben (Not-Ben, he reminds himself savagely) isn’t going away. They just stare at each other, waiting.

The cracked door slams fully open as Luther strides in. “Klaus, you were supposed to come down for training twenty minutes ago. What are you doing?”

Klaus doesn’t take his eyes off of Ben. “I think I can see Ben.”

Luther frowns. Klaus can’t see it, but he knows. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Are you high?” There’s a dangerous edge creeping into Luther’s voice, something more than the usual judgmental tone whenever Klaus is concerned.

“Well, yes,” Klaus concedes, “but that doesn’t seem to be changing the fact Ben is here.” He gestures to where the hallucination/ghost/Ben is standing.

Luther slams his fist into the wall, and the resulting crash of drywall and bricks forces Klaus’s attention away from the maybe-possibly-not-a-hallucination in the middle of his room. There’s a huge hole in the wall that divides his and Vanya’s rooms, and Luther is standing next to it, glaring. “This is low, even for you, Klaus. Pretending you can see Ben just to get attention.”

“That’s not--” Klaus begins, but Luther just snarls and stomps out. When Klaus turns back to Ben, he’s nowhere to be found.

(He reappears hours later and Klaus is so relieved he decides then and there that he doesn’t care whether or not it’s real.)

 

* * *

 

 

Klaus hates this house. So much. He’s had plenty of reasons to over the years, but never had it been because it felt empty. But first Five left, and then Ben, and then Vanya, and then Diego. (And then Ben kind of came back, but, still.) It’s quiet in a way it never used to be, and it just seems to make the ghosts louder.

He wanders down the hallway, looking for something to distract himself. He sees movement from Allison’s open doorway an decides to see what she’s doing.

She’s packing.

It’s exactly what he didn’t want to see--one more of them leaving--but he plasters a smile on his face anyway.

He pushes his way into the room dramatically, grabbing a feather boa from the pile of clothes she doesn’t seem to be taking and throwing it around his neck. He twirls around while she demands, “What are you doing?”

Klaus considers this a fairly stupid question, so he ignores it. “Headed off to LA?” he asks instead. Allison has made no secret of her aspirations and he’d have to be pretty stupid not to guess where she was going. He wonders if Luther knows.

“I’ve got a ticket booked for Saturday,” Allison says, giving up on reprimanding Klaus and going back to folding her clothes neatly into a suitcase.

Klaus nods and pretends he knows how soon that is.

“Today’s Thursday,” Ben says helpfully from the corner.

“Oh.” He perches on the edge of the bed, next to what he assumes is her to-be-packed pile. “Ooh!” He grabs up a dress from the pile. “This is fabulous!” And then he begins to strip off his clothes to try it on, because why the heck not.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Allison asks again, but Klaus is sure he detects a note of affection. No one can resist his charming personality, if he does say so himself.

“Come on, Allison,” he responds, voice muffled by the dress now caught around his head because he hadn’t bothered to unzip it, “it’s been ages since we had a fashion show!” Nearly two years, he thinks, but he’s never been brilliant with time.

Allison tries to hide a smile behind her hand but Klaus catches it and grins in triumph, dress now in its proper place. “I guess you’re right,” she concedes, and Klaus strikes a dramatic pose.

While their impromptu fashion shows had never exactly been frequent, Klaus hadn’t realized how much he missed them until both he and Allison are giggling like little kids, decked out in ridiculous combinations of clothes and makeup. He can forget for a moment that the house is too empty and about to get emptier, that it’s Ben’s ghost watching from the corner because Ben had died a horrible death. He can pretend Diego’s just down the hall, that Vanya’s practicing violin downstairs. Hell, he can pretend Five never left, that he’ll be there for dinner instead of just a table full of empty places.

Their fashion extravaganza is cut short, though, when they hear a loud clattering noise from down the hall. They look at each other in confusion before Allison heads out to investigate and Klaus reluctantly follows. The noise turns out to be coming from Klaus’s room, where they find a workman kneeling among the rubble of drywall and bricks next to a large toolbox, examining the hole in the wall.

“Whaddya doing?” Klaus asks over Allison’s shoulder.

The workman glances up briefly, annoyed. “Fixing the hole.” The _duh_ is implied.

It’s about time, Klaus thinks. The hole has been there for over a week now, and Dad surely knew about it the second it happened, given the fact he has cameras all over the house. He stares through the hole into Vanya’s room, now just one more empty space in this stupid, empty house.

He turns to Allison. “Hey, since you’re leaving, you wanna help me piss off Dad?”

She smiles slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted a bigger room.”

Several hours and one rumored workman later, that’s exactly what Klaus has. They get Luther to haul all of Vanya’s furniture out--after a brief argument, of course.

(“Did you get Dad’s permission for this?”

“Of course not! Who do I look like, you?”

“You can’t tear down a wall just because you feel like it!”

“You’re the one who punched a hole through it in the first place!”

“It’s Vanya’s room, you can’t just take it!”

“Well she’s certainly not using it anymore.”)

Klaus likes to think it’s his brilliant use of logic that convinces Luther, but it’s probably the fact Allison is on his side more than anything. Klaus thinks some good, old-fashioned teenage rebellion (which is what he’s choosing to think of this as) is probably good for Luther. Maybe it’ll loosen that stick up his ass.

He even manages to trick-- _convince_ \--Luther to help him carry various pieces of furniture that Klaus finds around the house into his newly expanded room. He raids unused bedrooms, rarely used sitting rooms, storage rooms, and rooms Klaus actually has no idea the purpose of. Allison appoints herself interior decorator and directs Luther where to place the items, while Klaus himself starts scribbling on the walls, expanding his already existing collection of song lyrics, doodles, poems, and anything else he thinks of.

He may feel trapped at the Academy, tethered to always return, but at least he can customize his cage.

Allison leaves early Saturday morning to catch her flight, and only Luther seems blindsided by it. Klaus watches the taxi pull away and thinks, _And then there were two_.

He goes to raid her closet and see what clothes she left behind.

 

* * *

 

 

Klaus spends more time away from the Academy than ever once Allison leaves. No way does he want to get stuck with dear old Dad and Luther for longer than absolutely necessary. But sometimes it can’t really be helped. Like, for instance, when there’s a giant thunderstorm and Klaus decides he has no desire to spend it huddled beside the dumpster of the motel where he bought his latest high. (Plus, Ben nagged him to go back and get out of the rain, and it was getting pretty annoying.)

So he stumbles “home,” shivering in his more decorative than practical coat. Ben walks beside him, rubbing his own arms. Klaus thinks he probably hasn’t even realized yet that he can’t actually get cold, or wet, or anything. Sometimes ghosts don’t realize it. He doesn’t point it out.

He doesn’t even bother sneaking in anymore. Dad would know he was back anyway. So he walks straight through the front door. Maybe that’s his first mistake. (His first mistake, really, is coming back at all.)

Dad is waiting for him in the foyer, frowning. “Number Four, this behavior is unacceptable, and I will no longer tolerate it.”

Klaus laughs, feeling not quite in control of his own actions. “Like you care what I do to myself. My powers are useless anyway.”

“Klaus,” Ben says warningly. Klaus ignores him. And that’s when things go sideways.

“You are a disgrace, Number Four.” Dad moves forward and grabs Klaus’s shoulder in a surprisingly strong grip. “If you insist on acting this way, you will face the consequences.” He begins leading Klaus away, a familiar path.

No. _No._

“No no no no no. _Please._ Please don’t put me in there again.” He’s begging and he doesn’t care.

“Where, Klaus?” Ben asks, following as Klaus struggles. “Where’s he taking you?”

Then they’re outside again, back in the pouring rain, and Klaus barely feels it over his terror. “Please! Dad, please don’t make me go back there!”

“This is your own doing, Number Four. If you had learned to control your fear instead of pumping yourself full of poison, I wouldn’t have to resort to such measures.”

“I can control it! I can! Just don’t put me in there again, _please.”_

“Klaus, what’s going on?” Ben demands, looking frightened himself. They’re at the edge of the property now, a small graveyard Klaus doubts any of his siblings even knows exists. But Klaus does. God, does he know.

“Dad, please!”

But Reginald ignores him, opening the heavy door of the mausoleum that haunts Klaus’s nightmares and shoving him in.

“You can come out when you are sober and have finally learned to control your fear.” His face is hard, no glimmer of sympathy or even humanity. Klaus hates him in that moment in a way he has never hated anyone before, never even imagined he could.

The door slams closed and Klaus can hear the locks clicking.

Maybe he can get out. He hasn’t been locked in here in years and he’s stronger than he used to be. If he can break the locks, or the doors, or _something_ before the drugs wear off, before the ghosts appear. . . .

He throws himself at the door, muttering “No no no no no no” under his breath. It doesn't budge. He tries again. And again. And again. His entire side burns where he slams it against the unyielding door.

“Klaus, stop!” Ben demands, trying to grab his arm and huffing when his hand goes right through. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Let me out!” Klaus yells, banging his fists against the door. “Let me out! Please, Dad!” It’s no use. It would take Luther’s strength to break through the door. But he doesn’t stop. He bangs his fists and yells until his voice goes hoarse and his legs collapse.

He can almost feel withdrawal setting in. _No no no no no._

Drugs. He needs drugs. He scrambles to sit up, shoving his bloodied hands into his pockets, searching desperately. He must have _something._ Pills, coke, weed, _anything._ He comes up empty.

He can feel himself starting to hyperventilate. _No no no no no no no._ He’d already been coming down from his latest high when he started back towards the Academy. It won’t be long now until he’s sober. Sober and stuck in the place that has haunted his nightmares since he was eight years old.

His whole body is shaking. He feels like his lungs are collapsing.

“Klaus, calm down.” Ben kneels next to him, illuminated by a flash of lightning, concern on every inch of his face that isn’t occupied by terror. “Klaus, you need to breathe.”

He’s numb, and he can’t tell how much of that is from the cold air against his wet skin and how much is down to panic. Thunder crashes outside and he whimpers.

Another flash of lightning and Klaus sees a figure out of the corner of his eye. _No no no no no no._ He scrambles backwards, huddling into the corner. Ben follows, just a shimmer of movement in the darkness. “Klaus, what’s going on?”

“Training,” Klaus spits out from his ragged throat. He laughs, because otherwise he’ll start crying. “That’s what Dad calls it, at least.”

Ben looks like he’s about to say something--his face is twisted into sympathy and pity--but just then a piercing shriek echoes around the mausoleum.

“KLAUS!”

“No no no no no no no,” Klaus mutters, immediately curling up as small as he can and covering his ears. He feels like that scared eight year old again, except he knows what’s coming. There are two of them now, looming over Klaus. But he knows there will only be more as the drugs continue to leave his system. They’re screaming, pushing as close to him as possible without passing straight through.

 _No no no no no no no._ He’s fought so hard to rid himself of the ghosts, tried everything to get some fucking peace and quiet. And now here he is, back in this _fucking mausoleum_ he thought he’d escaped for good. Freezing, soaked, shivering, going through withdrawal. And all because he’d wanted to get out of the fucking rain. It’s just not fair.

“KLAUS! KLAUS! KLAUS!”

Time loses all meaning. He can only tell it’s passing because more and more ghosts start appearing. Their wailing echoes around the stone walls and drowns out everything else. He thinks maybe the rain stops, and maybe the sky gets lighter, but he can’t be sure of anything other than the rawness of his throat and the violent trembling of his limbs.

Ben leaves at some point. Or maybe he’s still there, just lost in the crush of shrieking ghosts. Klaus wouldn’t blame him if he did leave. Being stuck with Klaus for the rest of his afterlife is cruel enough; Ben doesn’t need to see him like this too.

He can’t even scream anymore, his voice gone. He’s reduced to whimpering, sobbing. He feels at once viscerally aware of his own body and every sensation and like he’s detached from reality.

By the time the door opens, Klaus barely notices. Through the mass of ghoulish bodies he can dimly make out the figure of Reginald standing in the opening, weak sunlight filtering around him.

“Have you learned your lesson, Number Four?”

Klaus nods weakly, unable to speak. His throat feels like he gargled gravel. He pushes himself to his knees and then shakily to his feet.

Reginald looks at him with an expression of the deepest disappointment—his normal expression, really. “Very well. Remember this next time you decide to throw away your potential.”

Oh he’s going to remember it, all right. This place is burned into his very being.

Reginald leaves without another word, without waiting for Klaus or offering any help, not that Klaus expects any. He tries to take a step forward and stumbles into the wall. His legs don’t want to hold him. His entire body is bruised and shaking. He thinks he has a fever. The dead are still screaming, pushing toward him as he moves to the open doorway as quickly as he can in his current state.

He walks through the crowd of ghosts, shuddering as he does, and then he’s out. He gasps in the fresh air like coming up from water, trying to flush the stale, dead air of the mausoleum from his body.

Ben is there again, hovering by Klaus’s side. He doesn’t seem to know what to say. They walk slowly back to the house in silence, Klaus stumbling and shaking. Ben keeps reaching out to steady him but pulling back at the last second when he remembers he’d just go right through. The walk back always feels so much longer than the walk there, and today is no exception. After what feels like hours, Klaus drags himself through the door.

“Klaus, you should get Mom to help you.”

Klaus ignores him, heading to the stairs.

“You’re hurt,” Ben insists. “Klaus, you were in there for three days! You need help.”

He finally makes it upstairs. Luther’s nowhere to be seen. Good, he thinks, one less person to tell him how weak he is.

 _Water_ , he needs water. Ignoring Ben’s pleas for him to go find Mom or Pogo or someone to help, Klaus walks into the bathroom and sticks his whole head in the sink and turns on the faucet, drinking greedily. He half heartedly rinses off his hands, scrubbing weakly at the dried blood caking them.

When he’s satisfied with that, he walks to his room and digs a bag out from beneath the bed.

_Have you learned your lesson, Number Four?_

He’s learned _a_ lesson, that’s for sure. And he can’t stay here another minute.

He starts shoving everything he can find in the bag, pausing only to down a couple pills he finds. Ben watches from the corner, and Klaus can’t tell whether his expression is approving or resigned.

“At least eat something before you leave,” he says finally.

As a compromise, Klaus slings his bag over his shoulder and heads down to the kitchen, grabbing any expensive looking knick-knacks on his way. He shoves whatever packaged food he can find into his bag and munches on a few crackers as he does. Then he cleans out the infirmary of all pain meds and stops by Dad’s bar while he’s at it, grabbing a bottle of whiskey--the good shit.

He pauses in front of the door, staring at that stupid umbrella motif. He has nowhere to go. No plan. Just one duffel bag and a dead brother. He takes a deep breath. Holds it. Breathes out.

His hand is shaking as he reaches out to open the door. Ben is a silent presence at his side, and Klaus may have been terrified at first of seeing Ben’s ghost, but now he’s glad to have someone with him, even if it’s because Ben has no other options.

One shaky step at a time, Klaus walks out--through the front door, down the steps, across the sidewalk. _This is it,_ he thinks. _I’m free_. He doesn’t feel that way, though, not when every time he closes his eyes he’s back in the mausoleum again. Part of him isn’t even sure he left it in the first place.

But he’s free. He keeps walking. He remembers Vanya leaving, months ago, and how she kept stopping herself from looking back. He thinks he’s never understood her better than in this moment. He looks back though. Maybe he’s not as strong as Vanya.

He looks back, from safely across the street, at the only home he’s ever known, the place he hates more than anywhere else in the world.

Good riddance.

He turns sharply on his heel, bag banging against his bruises, and walks away.

It’s a long time before he goes back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @ [teatraysandtypewriters](https://teatraysandtypewriters.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Comments give me life.


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